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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23148697">A Cloak for Christ’s Sake  ~or~  Let's Do a Science</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dart/pseuds/Dart'>Dart</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Curses [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Community: MI6 Cafe | mi6_cafe, Earl Grey, Evil Villain Monologue, Hell Hath No Fury Like Q, M/M, MI6 Cafe Challenge, Magic March, it might be magic</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 10:41:43</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,072</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23148697</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dart/pseuds/Dart</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The most diabolical curse James Bond could be cursed with.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>James Bond/Q</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Curses [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1664107</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>64</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>A Cloak for Christ’s Sake  ~or~  Let's Do a Science</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pigfarts23/gifts">Pigfarts23</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Happy Pi Day. Pigfarts23 has a haunted flat and I once stayed in a haunted hostel in the same town. Aspersions were cast, clarifications were made and a good time was had by all on Slack. Thanks to everyone who helped chase the bunny. And thanks to Midrashic for looking over the first draft. And thanks to Zephyrfox for always being kind and helpful.</p><p>If you think something's a reference, it is. Enjoy the Easter Eggs.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>James Bond was in an evil villain’s lair because <em> of fucking course he fucking was. </em>It was a Tuesday. Tuesdays were the worst. Which naturally meant he had been captured and was restrained, but with some sort of tech he couldn’t even begin to figure out. The damnedest thing was he couldn’t really feel the restraints, but he certainly couldn’t move. There weren’t any sharks or noticeable lasers or even a yo-yo spin saw. There were none of the run-of-the-mill “This is your impending doom” cliches. He hadn’t even seen a single death ray. Huh. What would it be? Dramatic Dramalords thrived on drama. And this guy was wearing some sort of cloak for Christ’s sake. And what were all of those strange things in jars? </p><p>There was, of course, the villain, whatever-the-fuck-his-name-was’s monologue. Seriously. This guy was droning on and on. Maybe he should tune in. It was always helpful to hear diabolical plots, so he could more easily thwart them once he escaped.</p><p>“—and that’s why…” <em> definitely the tail end of a villain spiel </em>“I am going to hit you where it truly hurts, Zero Zero Seven.”</p><p>James looked him over, doubting he could do worse than Le Chiffre. “I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch your name.”</p><p>
  <em> Unintelligible muttering but with a flourish. </em>
</p><p>“Again?”</p><p>
  <em> Unintelligible muttering with a flourish, but more slowly this time. </em>
</p><p>“Pardon me, but did you intend for that to translate to ‘flies to cake’?”</p><p>“It’s a family name. Very old. Very distinguished.”</p><p>“Riiiight.”</p><p>“No matter, bondjamesbond. You’ll wish to be fleeing toward death soon enough.”</p><p>“That makes no sens—is it like an anagram or something?”</p><p>“This, shall we say, clever…<em> weapon… </em>of mine will seek out what you hold most dear. And we all know what you hold most dear. Ha! Ha! England! I—”</p><p>“<em>Well actually,” </em> James cut in, “It’s the <em> United Kingdom. </em>You know, Wales, England, Scotland, Northern Ireland?” Bond squinted. “Are you actually an American?”</p><p>The villain squawked. “The nerve!”</p><p>“I defend them <em> all. </em>With a bloody vengeance.”</p><p>The villain scoffed. “No matter your nonsensical borders and names, as long as it contains Albion. This <em> weapon </em> will take it and crush and ruin and <em> destroy </em> it! This weapon will foul its very essence.” <em> Textbook maniacal laughter. </em></p><p>Just then a haughty pointy blond in a bespoke suit piped up. “Um, my Lor--your Evilness, I…I want to make sure you understand exactly how this, er…<em> weapon </em> works. It can be <em> tricky.” </em></p><p>What was this guy his Q-Branch equivalent? His Evil Bespoke Minion? Of course <em> Flies to Cake </em> didn’t create this weapon. He’d had Evil Minion do it and it looked like Evil Minion could see this ending poorly.</p><p><em> Flies to Cake </em> did not listen. <em> Shocker. </em></p><p>Evil Minion tried again and said, “Even if he doesn’t know or hasn’t accepted what he truly loves, the cur—<em> weapon </em>will seek it out. Lock onto it, if you will.”</p><p><em> Flies to Cake </em> did something to cause Evil Minion pain. Did he have a hidden shock collar? James was glad Q hadn’t thought to make any sort of remote-controlled device under the delusion that anything might make James more compliant. <em> Well, unless… </em></p><p>“What is that stupid smirk on your face for?” the villain demanded. “You should fear me! You should be begging me to have mercy! Though clearly I have none, you should still beg for it.”</p><p>“Please.” James rolled his eyes. He supposed he had let his imagination run a bit wild about what sort of remote controls Q might invent for him. <em> He did trust Q an awful lot. </em> He was smirking again. He added a smoulder. “Does it look like I ever have to beg for anything?”</p><p>Evil Minion was looking a little hot and bothered. James winked at him.</p><p>The villain was clearly in a snit, and as he made his way over, James could tell he was going for “menacing elegance” but when he made to swirl his cloak behind him, he got caught up in it instead. <em> Who the fuck wears a cloak anyway? </em> James tried to catch Evil Minion’s eye, but Evil Minion was studiously studying the floor, his shoulders were shaking though. <em> Coward. </em> When James looked up to smirk at <em> Flies to Cake, </em> everything went dark. <em> Did he cut the lights? </em>This was infuriating. There was no give in the restraints, forget headbutting him, James couldn’t even get a good bite in. </p><p>“There, bondjamesbond. Lie back and think of <em> England.” </em></p><p>Bond could hear Evil Minion’s facepalm from here.  </p><p>James couldn’t actually clear his mind. He was certain whatever torture the guy had in mind would start up soon. What was it with these maniacal villains? And James, when he had to focus on something, like he always did these past several months, he concentrated very firmly on making Q’s tea. Getting it just right. Exactly the right temperature. Counting the seconds the tea bag was in the water. The granules of sugar. The drops of milk. He was supposed to keep his mind blank, but his heart was filled with fondness.</p><p>Finally there was some weird sort of chanting. Was that Latin? No, maybe some sort of bastardized Latin. James could pick out a word here and there. <em> Specialis Revelio? Confundo?  </em></p><p>He didn’t feel any different. Huh. Maybe Evil Minion was right. Things had ended poorly. </p><p>There was the distinct sound of maniacal laughter. That was never good.</p><p>~~00Q00~~</p><p>James came to facedown in an alley, surprisingly alive, surprisingly intact. He knew by the taste of the alley he was back home. The Franco Manco box under his head just confirmed it.</p><p>How very strange. Not only was he not dead. He also wasn’t even in Albania anymore. Why let him live? Why let him go? Why return him to London? <em> He should report to Medical. </em>He shook that thought right out of his head. </p><p>He emerged from the alley next to a bookshop, a broken-down old shop front, and a record store. He was on Charing Cross Road. Huh. He had been left in this very same alley before. Once. No. Not once, twice. <em> How strange.  </em></p><p><em> He should— </em>James set his jaw and headed to MI6 and went straight to Q Branch. He felt some inexplicable need to check on Q. </p><p>It was a relief to see Q, standing at his desk in the paddock. Q looked relieved to see him and James’ heart swelled just a little, but then a moment later, Q looked absolutely furious.</p><p>The closest minions scurried away like rats. Never a good sign.</p><p>Q laid into him. “The nerve. The last I knew you had been captured. There was some sort of interference as soon as you entered the compound and I couldn’t get <em> any </em>readings. I’ve never seen anything quite like it.”</p><p>James wisely stayed quiet while Q paused for a breath and to regather his steam. The further away minions were scurrying for cover now.</p><p>“37 hours. That’s how long this department has been wondering if you were alive or dead. I know you like to fuck off to parts unknown but YOU COULD HAVE AT LEAST LET A PERSON KNOW. Sometime between escaping and arranging transport surely.”</p><p>“Now Q, I know this might seem—”</p><p>Just then Tanner appeared and said, “007! M wants you in his office <em> now.”  </em></p><p>~~00Q00~~</p><p>James debriefed, though he was rather vague on the particulars. Mallory sent him right back out. At least he had managed to avoid Medical like the plague it was. </p><p>~~00Q00~~</p><p>James Bond was at Le Meurice on Rue de Rivoli, meeting with Monsieur Tarasque, one of the <em> worst </em> villains. He had excellent taste in champagne though. Bond picked up his glass of Krug Clos du Mesnil and joined the toast to world domination or whatever the fuck it was this week. </p><p>He took a normal drink and did not cringe at all. </p><p>Q was in his ear. “What’s wrong?”</p><p>Perceptive little shite.</p><p>“Is it poisoned?”</p><p>James could swear he hadn’t made any sort of change in expression. But Q could read him. He probably exhaled differently. Or his heart beat changed. Overbearing spying always-looking over-perceptive little shite. Leave it to Q to notice something was up. James tapped his watch in the “I’m fine” signal. After all, they hadn’t worked out a code for “It tastes like Earl fucking Grey.”</p><p>~~00Q00~~</p><p>James Bond was tied to a post.</p><p>Red Shirt said, “<em>H</em><em>e </em> says we can’t kill him, boss.”</p><p>“Who he?” the boss, Big Ears asked. </p><p>Red Shirt kept trying and failing to say a name. He finally waved his hand and said, “You-know-who...What’s-his-name.”</p><p>“Who?’</p><p>“You know, Got-on-the-Wrong-Side-of-a-Plastic-Surgeon? Rhinoplasty-Gone-Awry? Fancy Cloak. He says we can’t kill this guy, Boss.”</p><p>Big Ears sneered. “That posh Ren Faire bastard?”</p><p>“Remember what happened to that poor Musgrave bastard?”</p><p>Big Ears slumped. “Ugh.” He looked a bit ill. “Can we at least torture him?”</p><p>Red Shirt looked at his notes. “Eh, light to moderate. Absolutely no brain damage. Not even a concussion.”　</p><p>“But I like it when you can tell they’re seeing stars over their heads when I have you bash them with the bat. Like in the cartoons.”　</p><p>James had already finished untying his wrists. <em> Amateurs.　 </em></p><p>He made quick work of Big Ears. He looked down and said, “Ever so sorry, no time for the stars you like so much.” </p><p>He only shot Red Shirt in the leg, so he couldn’t run off. He wanted answers. </p><p>~~00Q00~~</p><p>James said, “It was the damnedest thing, Q. It was like no cyanide tooth I’ve ever seen. As soon as Red Shirt started to talk—I don’t know what killed him, but he was sure dead.” </p><p>“Maybe I should alert the lab?”</p><p>He grabbed Q's wrist, but gently. “No.” And then he eased off, grasping at subtle. He leaned in. “I need you to look up someone for me. Musgrave”</p><p>“Musgrave? <em> Ned </em> Musgrave? What. The. Fuck. do you want to know about him for?! I know we specialize in nasty business, but that was <em> Nasty. Business.”  </em></p><p>~~00Q00~~</p><p>It kept happening and to be honest, which James Bond so rarely was, he was getting a bit unsettled by it. The villains wouldn’t kill him. Wouldn’t even try. And there were always whispers about <em>Flies to Cake, </em>well, they certainly didn’t call him that, but they all had silly little nicknames for him. Except Don in Sicily. Don called him <em>Timmy. </em></p><p>“We did a summer course together at school,” Don said in that thick raspy voice, “He was an insufferable suck up. Now about that nuclear warhead, Mr. Bond.”</p><p>And the villains didn’t know much about <em> Flies to Cake, </em>most certainly not how he got his power. They just knew what happened to those two infamous poor bastards who crossed him. It wasn’t a fairytale of the underworld. It was a goddamn law.</p><p>~~00Q00~~</p><p>James Bond was tied to yet another fucking chair surrounded by yet another gaggle of crime lords or whatever the fuck the collective noun was. In yet another goddamn abandoned warehouse. His life was a cliche. </p><p>“Since we can’t kill him, let’s just keep him out of our hair. We can lock him up,” Crimiest said. </p><p>James was running out of fucks to give when it came to naming marks and their entourages. This guy was the most extra of the extra lot, thus, Crimiest. </p><p>“Not it!” came a voice.</p><p>Quickly followed by another. “Not it!”</p><p>Then a chorus. “Not it!”</p><p>“What? Wait! We’re discussing this,” Crimiest said.</p><p>“I would sooner fight a mother Grizzly in her den, barehanded.”</p><p>“I’d rather be shot off a moving train, fall into a river and drown.”</p><p>“I’d rather be burned to a crisp by a flame-throwing tank masquerading as a dragon.”</p><p>“Rather survive a poisoning to then be hacked to death by a machete in a stairwell.”</p><p>“I’d rather be thrown off an antenna cradle by my best friend.”</p><p>“It’s a toss up between being locked in a submerged Rolls-Royce or locked in an elevator in a burning building.”</p><p>“Berserker knife-throwing circus twins!”</p><p>“You already went! I’d rather be attacked with an axe on top of the Golden Gate Bridge.”</p><p>“Helicopters with giant saws.”</p><p>“I’d rather be shot with my own weapon,” Tall Guy said. </p><p>They all looked at him.</p><p>“What?” Tall Guy said, “As stupidest ways to go, that’s it.”</p><p>“My idea’s not that bad,” Crimiest said petulantly. </p><p>What followed was a recitation of some of the more horn-inducing bouts of destruction Q had wrought on Bond’s behalf. Q’s vengeance was glorious. Christ, Bond couldn’t wait to escape so he could have a wank. </p><p>“There’s no way we can hold—“Tall Guy kicked James’ leg“—The hidden one will destroy us.”</p><p>“Maybe we could dump”—a kick to James’ other leg—“him on someone?”</p><p>Then Crimiest said a name and everyone groaned and Bond immediately dubbed his soon-to-be-host “Kyle”.</p><p>They would not shut up about Kyle. No one liked that guy. </p><p>This was turning into the sort of tale Leiter would tell—with drunken frat boys stealing their rival school’s pony. <em> Undignified. </em>It snowballed further downhill and ended with the extra lot of them scuttling around Kyle’s compound to dump Bond.</p><p>Q destroyed things. Bond fucked off to the beach. </p><p>~~00Q00~~</p><p>James dragged himself back into Q Branch after another mission gone to hell.</p><p>Q said, “I thought you’d be off courting liver failure somewhere.”</p><p>James made a disgusted face. “I’ve lost the taste for it.”</p><p>Q scoffed.</p><p>James finished adding the milk to Q’s tea. He sighed. He had missed this. It settled him.</p><p>Q smiled at the cup when James handed it to him. He took a sip and choked. “James Andrew Bond! How dare you pour Scotch in my tea cup! Some things are <em> sacred.”  </em></p><p>“I…what?! I made you tea.”</p><p>“Clearly not!”</p><p>“I did!” James scrubbed his hand over his face. “Watch your surveillance then, Mr. Looky-LooEyes.”</p><p>Q muttered, “<em> Looky-LooEyes!” </em>while he pulled up the surveillance. “I’ll be damned, you did make tea. Looks perfect.”</p><p>James couldn’t help but preen.</p><p>“How’d you switch it?”</p><p>“I made you tea. You just watched me make you tea.”</p><p>“But…”</p><p>“Come on. Watch me in person. Wait.” James eyed Q’s cup. Scotch you say?”</p><p>“Macallan 1962.”</p><p>James gave the cup a little mournful look then looked at Q and said, “I thought you hated Scotch.”</p><p>“Loathe it, but someone had to test the poison-revealing lipstick and ill-fated lip balm.”</p><p>“Lip balm?”</p><p>“How often do you wear lipstick, Bond?”</p><p>“I don’t always wear lipstick, but when I do, I want it to be your high tech lethal lipstick, Q.”</p><p>And he said it just like the fucking commercial. But a zillion times sexier. Q tried to burn a hole through his smug face with his, alas, laserless eyes. </p><p>James took a tentative sip and made his Earl Grey face. </p><p>Q exclaimed, “That’s it!”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“The face you’ve been making when you drink champagne on missions lately.”</p><p>“I swear I have not made faces. I assumed you were counting my heartbeats or something.”</p><p>Q blushed. Because he totally <em> had.  </em></p><p>Q watched him make the tea. He took the cup from James and tasted it. “Scotch.”</p><p>James took the cup back and locked eyes with Q while he drank it. “Earl Grey.”</p><p>Q made an utterly perplexed face that had James feeling a pang at having broken his Boffin.</p><p>“Your champagne has been tasting like tea?”</p><p>James nodded, but then said, “Every beverage tastes like Earl Grey.”</p><p>“How long has this been going on?”</p><p>“Since I woke up in that alley after Albania.”</p><p>“What alley? What do you mean woke up? What exactly happened with that villain?”</p><p>“You read my AAR.”</p><p>Q gave him a LOOK. “I asked what happened, not what fairy tale you cooked up. I’d get a straighter, more complete answer from a Magic Eight Ball.”</p><p>“Threats were made. Something was used on me. I was rendered unconscious and dumped in a rather peculiar place.”</p><p>“What threats?”</p><p>“He threatened England, but in a vague way. I assumed he meant to torture me and I…thought of other things.”</p><p>“What did you think about?”</p><p>James looked at him for a while, then finally said, “The same thing I always think about when I have to resist something.”</p><p>“Where is this—”</p><p>James put his fingers on Q’s mouth to cut him off. “Not here.”</p><p>“Did you just bloody shush me like a child?!”</p><p>“Not. Here,” James said. He took the tea cup and toyed with it for a bit. “Have you considered…if we dispense with the cup?”</p><p>“Drink out of the bottle?”</p><p>“No, if we <em> share.”  </em></p><p>Q was slow to catch on, but he shouldn’t feel bad, he wasn’t the one sticking his tongue down other people’s throats for business. Alas, not much for pleasure these days either, what with his horrendous schedule and security clearance. Okay fine, and also, the raging volcano of a crush he’d had on James Fucking Bond since oh, Second 3 of standing in a doorway of the National Gallery.</p><p>“It’s for Science, Q.”</p><p>“I didn’t think it was possible. In all 173 missions I’ve listened in on, I thought I’d heard every last line, but that’s a new one.”</p><p>“You’re not a mark, Q. Besides, I meant to make you laugh, and you did.”</p><p>“More of a snort really.”</p><p>“For Science?”</p><p>“If I snort tea or Scotch up my nose, Bond,” Q threatened.　</p><p>“We’re about to share a rather filthy kiss, call me James.”</p><p>Q said, “That’s your fifth most popular line.”</p><p>James ran his thumb along Q’s jaw and leaned in just a bit. “You’re not a mark, Q.”</p><p>“<em>Christ. </em>You could at least buy me dinner first.”　</p><p>James grinned broadly—like a cat who got the cream, the canary, and successfully implicated the dog to boot. “I accept your invitation.” </p><p>James hustled him out of Six. “I know just the place.”</p><p>~~00Q00~~</p><p>Over the lobster Arnold Bennett, James said, “I was thinking about your tea.”</p><p>“Pardon?”</p><p>“I go through all of the steps of making your tea. That’s where my mind goes.”</p><p>“My tea.”</p><p>“Mmm. You’re very exacting.”</p><p>Q raised an eyebrow and smirked. ”You have no idea.”</p><p>
  <strong>…</strong>
</p><p>“And the evil sidekick you called him?” Q asked.</p><p>“Evil Bespoke Minion.”</p><p>“He said?”</p><p>“He said, ‘Even if he doesn’t know or hasn’t accepted what he truly loves, the cur—<em> weapon </em>will seek it out. Lock onto it, if you will.’”</p><p>“Cur—weapon?”</p><p>“It sounded like he started to say…curse.”</p><p>“What else did he say?”</p><p>“Before that, <em> Flies to Cake </em> said, ‘This, shall we say, clever… <em> weapon… </em>of mine will seek out what you hold most dear, and we all know what you hold most dear. Ha! Ha! England!’” </p><p>“So that’s twice they said weapon instead of something else.”</p><p>“You caught that?”</p><p>“Your memory and ability to mimic is phenomenal, Bond. I don’t doubt you caught every nuance.”</p><p>“It was very strange. Why leave me alive? Why….”</p><p>“Why what?”</p><p>“Since then, <em> every </em> one has been under orders from <em> Flies to Cake </em> to not kill me, to not harm me in certain ways.”</p><p>“I wondered how you got out of that <em> obvious </em>trap in Leipzig!” </p><p>James frowned at the slight, but then said, “He needed me alive for the <em> weapon </em>to work.”</p><p>“Alive and?”</p><p>“Not brain damaged. Not even concussed”</p><p>“You said everyone.”</p><p>“At one point, when I was in Galicia, there were 10 of them, from assorted clans and they were fighting over me.”</p><p>“To kill you?”</p><p>“No, over what to do with me. They were afraid of <em> Flies to Cake</em>. And the main one--”</p><p> “What did you call him again?”</p><p>“Crimiest. He suggested they keep me locked up.”</p><p>Q pressed his lips together, but nodded. He said, “To keep you out of their hair.”</p><p>“Except.” </p><p>“Except?”</p><p>“The other nine immediately declared, ‘Not it!’”</p><p>“Like primary school kids?”</p><p>“Exactly like primary kids.”</p><p>“Well, you are a dangerous man. They probably knew they couldn’t hold you.”</p><p>James laughed, loud and hearty and fond. “Oh, they were scared of a dangerous man all right, but it wasn’t me.”</p><p>A raised eyebrow was all the confusion Q was willing to show. </p><p>“They didn’t know your name or any identifying details, but they knew <em> you. </em>They knew you would rain down hell on anyone stupid enough to hold me.”</p><p>Q made a face.</p><p>“Wouldn’t you?”</p><p>“I have commandeered satellites, aircraft carriers, air and watercraft from all branches, really. I have hacked the Americans, Russians, and Chinese. I have bald-faced lied to Mallory, the PM and the Queen for your sorry arse.” </p><p>“When did you talk to the Queen?”</p><p>“Like last Tuesday? Oh, you mean when did I <em> lie </em> ? 92 days ago. You know exactly what I’ll do to bring you home, James. <em> Everything</em>.”</p><p>James didn’t say a word.</p><p>Q continued, “So yes, they weren’t wrong. Is that…?”</p><p>“They dumped me at…this guy’s compound,” James said, but then more quietly muttered, “Nobody likes that guy.”</p><p>Q scowled, “And what pray tell did you name him?”</p><p>James gave him his <em> I do not know what you are talking about. I am an innocent flower </em>look.</p><p>“James Bond. You are not allowed to name villains after my minions!”</p><p>“A real lowlife, according to the low lifes who had me. And then you…”</p><p>“Ah clever. They used me to wipe their competition off the game board.” </p><p>“From the face of the Earth,” James corrected. </p><p>Q tilted his head. “Fair.”</p><p>
  <strong>...</strong>
</p><p>“His plan was to take down England?” Q asked. </p><p>“Apparently.”</p><p>“Through you.”</p><p>“It didn’t make sense to me either. Evil Bespoke Minion did say it was tricky.”</p><p>“Were you supposed to be under his control and somehow bring down England all on your own?”</p><p>“No. He made it almost sound like…whatever I hold most dear, it…the curse? would follow that and destroy it. Foul its very essence.”</p><p>“And instead?”</p><p>“Everything I drink tastes like Earl Grey.”</p><p>“And the Earl Grey you made me tasted like Scotch.”</p><p>They sat there for some time. </p><p>Q eventually laughed. “Do you think he meant to ruin tea for everyone? I mean, that’s pretty ‘20 page footnote’ kind of thing. I mean, people say the Empire ran on tea, but that’s more of a university PhD prank level of inconvenience that only works on paper anyway.”</p><p>“No, he just assumed incorrectly about what I hold most dear.”</p><p>Q scoffed. “James, nothing comes before Queen and country for you.”</p><p>“Do you know why the M’s make it a point to never have all of the 00s in London at the same time?”</p><p>“There’s always a mission?”</p><p>James shook his head no.</p><p>“You used up our allotment of National Incidents in the Aughts?”</p><p>“Also, no.” “It’s because when we 00s all get together, we do things like make pacts.”</p><p>“Pacts?”</p><p>“If there’s ever word that you’ve gone rogue—“</p><p>“I wouldn’t!”</p><p>James clasped Q’s hand. “The nearest two will drop everything to guard you. And the rest will run interference.”</p><p>“I don’t understand.”</p><p>“We know you won’t turn, Q. And if someone ever dares suggest it, or makes a move against you, they’ll have <em> all </em>of us to contend with.”</p><p>“But how did that even come up?”</p><p>James looked a tiny bit sheepish. “I brought it up.”</p><p>“How?! Why?!”</p><p>“You’re important, Q. To me. To all of us.”</p><p>“Why did you really bring it up?”</p><p>“They were teasing me. Saying I would let the door slam shut in the Queen’s face if you…”</p><p>“If I?</p><p>“Walked by…with new shiny tech.”</p><p>“That’s not what you were going to say.” </p><p>“There may have been mention of those suede trousers of yours.” </p><p>Q’s treacherous face couldn't decide if it wanted to blush or grin more. He had bought those trousers with the express intent of catching Bond’s eye.</p><p>“And I said, 'Who here wouldn’t answer Q’s call? If he needed you, who wouldn’t answer?'”</p><p>“And then?”</p><p>“And then it quickly devolved into—” James waved his hand. </p><p>“Worst case ‘the Quartermaster is wrongfully accused of treason’ scenario?”</p><p>“Pretty much exactly that.” </p><p>“And what? You all swore on your pints?</p><p>Bond mumbled something about weapons. </p><p>“MI6-issued weapons you are supposed to promptly turn in?!”</p><p>This time James spoke clearly. “We all swore on our service weapons over M’s grave.”</p><p>Q just stared at him. Finally he threw back his drink, took a moment to gather his voice and said, “Not to be easy, but I was promised <em> Science </em>.”</p><p>“Easy?! You’ve turned down my invitation to dinner 57 times.”</p><p>“59,” Q corrected him. Now James just stared at him. And stared. </p><p>“What?! I didn’t want to be a mere dalliance!”</p><p>“And now?”</p><p>“I’m looking forward to being your insufferably smug boyfriend. You love me more than England, really James?”</p><p>James kissed him sweetly, but with considerable restraint. Then he took a drink of his whiskey in order to pass it to Q as they kissed. Instead of kissing Q, he swallowed and looked down at his glass like a lover. Then he knocked back the rest and signaled for another.” </p><p>Q pouted. “I was promised Science!”</p><p>“Whatever, it’s whiskey, I'm not getting cursed again.” </p><p>Q pouted. “I was promised Science and kisses!”</p><p>James was happy to oblige, but before he could throw his back into it, Q said, “We should report this, James.”</p><p>James did not dignify that with a response, he set about turning Q into a quivering puddle of forgetful distraction. </p><p> ...</p><p>James had reported the first time he woke up in that alley and something had happened. He’d reported to Medical and then…that was the thing. What happened? He couldn’t pinpoint anything, but something was off. There had been different faces. It was all a blur. They had done something to him. He had avoided Medical ever since. The previous time he remembered waking up in that alley, he’d had the overwhelming urge to keep his mouth shut, but there was a steady compulsion to go straight to Medical and report. <em> Straight to Medical. Report. Straight to Medical to report. </em> James had thought about where else he might go. <em> Straight to Medical. Report. Straight to Medical. Report. </em> His Quartermaster had the most delightful eye catching mouth. Persnickety little thing. He’d only just started making him tea, <em> attempting </em> to make him tea. This last time he’d gotten a lip quirk after Q tasted it. How had he done it…exactly? James Bond had made tea in his head to his Quartermaster’s exacting specifications the entire way to MI6, through Security and down into Q Branch. Right up to his desk. </p><p>“Q.”</p><p>“Good god, 007. You should go straight to Medical.”</p><p>James had flinched and uncharacteristically knocked equipment off Q’s desk.</p><p>Q must have seen something in his face because he had said, “Never mind then. Come through to my office.”</p><p>And Q had bundled him into his office and then plunked him down on a stool.<br/><br/>“Let me get a look at you.” </p><p>Q had tended his wounds.</p><p>“Do you want to talk about this aversion to Medical?”</p><p>James had scowled. </p><p>“I thought not.”</p><p>“I trust <em> you </em> , Q.”</p><p>“It’s just that none of my degrees are medical, Bond. You know I set a high standard. I want the best for my agents and a patch job in a basement office just isn’t up to par.”</p><p>“It’s <em> you </em> or I do it myself.”</p><p>“And how were you going to reach that spot on your back?”</p><p>“Exactly.”</p><p>“You are infuriating, Bond. But, report here if you must. But I’ll still at least try to send you to Medical.”</p><p>“But you won’t make me go.”</p><p>“How on Earth would I make you do anything? I say, did you hit your head?”</p><p>
  <strong>...</strong>
</p><p>Q broke the kiss and poked James in the nose. “That was a classic shut me up maneuver. You should know, I’m immune.”<br/><br/>James said, “No. We can’t report this.”</p><p>“But if there’s a risk—“</p><p>“ <em> No.” </em></p><p>“James.”</p><p>“There’s a reason I avoid Medical like the plague. I won’t have them taking”— he raised his and Q’s clasped hands—“this. I won’t be made to forget. Not again.”</p><p>“Tell me.”</p><p>“You remember the first time I reported to you and you stitched up my back?”</p><p>“Yes, I hadn’t seen you like that before or since.”</p><p>“When I kissed you just then, it was to give me a moment to recall the <em> first </em>time before either of those.”</p><p>“Really! I’m not a memory-aid or a time filler. How would you like it if I stuck my tongue down your throat whenever I did a bit of advanced Maths?”</p><p>“Yes, okay. Definitely.”</p><p>Q swatted at his chest. “I want it to mean something, James. I’m not interested if it doesn’t.” </p><p>“Listen. When I woke up in that alley the first time, I reported to Medical like a good little lad. I told them all of the strange things that happened. And they did something to me. <em> Made </em> me forget. But of course I didn’t know that. But the next time I woke up in that alley, and ‘Report to Medical’ started playing through my head like a broken record, I <em> knew </em>something was wrong.”</p><p>“<em> Oh.” </em></p><p>“So I fixated on something in order to get back to MI6.”</p><p>“You came to me?”</p><p>“I told you then, I trust you.”</p><p>“But what did you fixate on?”</p><p>“I already told you.”</p><p>“My tea!”</p><p>“Yes, I mentally made your tea to your exacting specifications 11 times.”</p><p>
  <strong>...</strong>
</p><p>“Do you believe MI13 exists?” James asked.</p><p>“I have come across very few things I cannot get into, but they exist. And honestly? A supernatural explanation is more plausible than there being someone that far superior to me on this <em> Earth </em>, let alone in MI6.”</p><p>Bond made a particular facial expression.</p><p>Q demanded,  “What?”</p><p>“You wouldn’t know humble if it bit you in the arse.”</p><p>“Is it not true?!”</p><p>“Of course it’s true.”</p><p>“This coming from the least humble man I know.”</p><p>“Mmm maybe we should compare notes.”</p><p>“You are extremely very sure of yourself.”</p><p>James raised his glass. “I am just as sure of you, Q.”</p><p>Again with the kissing. </p><p>”Focus Bond,” Q scolded.</p><p>“I am,” James said. </p><p>“The threat?”</p><p>“I know a guy who holds a grudge and takes it personally when someone messes with <em> his </em>agent.”</p><p>“You want me to firebomb MI13?”</p><p>“No! I mean, ideally, yes. But what I was going for was that clever brain of yours devising a way to take down Fancy Cloak."<br/><br/><br/><br/><br/><br/><br/><br/></p>
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